Connall looked at him, almost past him, once more. His slightly unshaven face twitched once, thick eyebrows pulled together in consideration for but a moment, and then he sprang into action. “Alright, there’s a couple things you need to know and do before you go. C’mere.” Connall took several short, quick strides back to Alfred’s loveseat, grabbed his wrist firmly, and pulled him up. Alfred stumbled once, and then followed Connall’s fast pace out of the room.
Alfred trailed after him curiously. He had never been inside Connall’s inner sanctum before. He had only seen around four rooms in the entire house before, most from the disastrous dinner a few years ago with Arthur. There was the entryway, where everything had been fine, and then the conversation in the living room where Alfred had understood about half of what Connall said, and then dining room and kitchen, where the food, jointly cooked by all of them, had simply been awful, and the worst thing Alfred had tasted in a long time. He had taken great pains to show that he still ate it though. It was really odd too, because Arthur’s cooking had actually been improving lately, and he had lost some of his tendency to overspice and oversalt everything. But then it had come back in full force, and Alfred had been too late to save the asparagus, for Arthur had dumped the full 26 oz container (yes, he had looked afterwards), into the mix. At least Alfred’s cookies had been okay, in the end. Though for weeks afterwards, Arthur had continued to oversalt… Alfred’s mind wandered back to Crowe’s comment about salt in the food, and suddenly it clicked. Arthur had been salting to protect them from the Unseelie Court (he still wasn’t sure exactly what this whole court business was, so he made a mental note to ask Connall). Alfred felt a rush of affection for Arthur, who had endured the world’s taunts for years. Perhaps, given what he’d found out about Connall being stolen away Underhill, right that’s what they’d called it, Arthur had been trying to protect his brother again, even simply through food. It was oddly reassuring, in a way…
Bang! Alfred was interrupted from his memories by knocking his head into a low doorframe, and he yelped in pain, rubbing his forehead with his forearm, glaring at the wooden arches, covered in runes and designs. Ahead of him, he heard a snort of laughter, along with the call of “Watch your nob!” Alfred sighed, resigned to his fate, ducked his head and continued on.
Up and around and down they went, twisting through passageways and slightly low ceilings that Alfred had to duck to make sure he didn’t hit his head again. After two minutes, Alfred was curious about how big the house was, and again suspected that Connall was simply leading him around to mess with him.
Finally, Alfred turned a corner and almost ran into Connall, who was muttering under his breath, hand hovering above the doorknob of an ancient looking door. Connall finished what he was saying, and Alfred heard a click, and the door swung inwards. Alfred’s jaw dropped. So this was magic, real magic. Why was Connall doing so much more than Alfred had ever seen Arthur doing? None of his locks were like this. “Connall…” Alfred asked, voicing his thoughts, and trying to be very careful about it, “How come you’re doing so much magic, when the book says you… well, you can’t?”
Connall’s face twisted an ugly shade and then sighed. “Come in and I’ll explain it to you.” Alfred followed behind obediently, and was immediately awestruck. The walls of the room were painted, spelled, whatever, so that there seemed to be a living forest all around them, complete with small bird sounds and the rustling of wind. The chest of drawers and a long, thick wooden table seemed both intimately right and incredibly out of place. Connall was rummaging around in the drawer second from the bottom, finally pulling out five glasses and, strangely, a bag of barley. He plunked them all down on the table with a satisfying, dull noise. Alfred sat in one of the chairs across from him, curious about everything in this amazing room.
Crowe 3h/?
Alfred trailed after him curiously. He had never been inside Connall’s inner sanctum before. He had only seen around four rooms in the entire house before, most from the disastrous dinner a few years ago with Arthur. There was the entryway, where everything had been fine, and then the conversation in the living room where Alfred had understood about half of what Connall said, and then dining room and kitchen, where the food, jointly cooked by all of them, had simply been awful, and the worst thing Alfred had tasted in a long time. He had taken great pains to show that he still ate it though. It was really odd too, because Arthur’s cooking had actually been improving lately, and he had lost some of his tendency to overspice and oversalt everything. But then it had come back in full force, and Alfred had been too late to save the asparagus, for Arthur had dumped the full 26 oz container (yes, he had looked afterwards), into the mix. At least Alfred’s cookies had been okay, in the end. Though for weeks afterwards, Arthur had continued to oversalt… Alfred’s mind wandered back to Crowe’s comment about salt in the food, and suddenly it clicked. Arthur had been salting to protect them from the Unseelie Court (he still wasn’t sure exactly what this whole court business was, so he made a mental note to ask Connall). Alfred felt a rush of affection for Arthur, who had endured the world’s taunts for years. Perhaps, given what he’d found out about Connall being stolen away Underhill, right that’s what they’d called it, Arthur had been trying to protect his brother again, even simply through food. It was oddly reassuring, in a way…
Bang! Alfred was interrupted from his memories by knocking his head into a low doorframe, and he yelped in pain, rubbing his forehead with his forearm, glaring at the wooden arches, covered in runes and designs. Ahead of him, he heard a snort of laughter, along with the call of “Watch your nob!” Alfred sighed, resigned to his fate, ducked his head and continued on.
Up and around and down they went, twisting through passageways and slightly low ceilings that Alfred had to duck to make sure he didn’t hit his head again. After two minutes, Alfred was curious about how big the house was, and again suspected that Connall was simply leading him around to mess with him.
Finally, Alfred turned a corner and almost ran into Connall, who was muttering under his breath, hand hovering above the doorknob of an ancient looking door. Connall finished what he was saying, and Alfred heard a click, and the door swung inwards. Alfred’s jaw dropped. So this was magic, real magic. Why was Connall doing so much more than Alfred had ever seen Arthur doing? None of his locks were like this. “Connall…” Alfred asked, voicing his thoughts, and trying to be very careful about it, “How come you’re doing so much magic, when the book says you… well, you can’t?”
Connall’s face twisted an ugly shade and then sighed. “Come in and I’ll explain it to you.” Alfred followed behind obediently, and was immediately awestruck. The walls of the room were painted, spelled, whatever, so that there seemed to be a living forest all around them, complete with small bird sounds and the rustling of wind. The chest of drawers and a long, thick wooden table seemed both intimately right and incredibly out of place. Connall was rummaging around in the drawer second from the bottom, finally pulling out five glasses and, strangely, a bag of barley. He plunked them all down on the table with a satisfying, dull noise. Alfred sat in one of the chairs across from him, curious about everything in this amazing room.